


Wake Me Up

by eleonorastay



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent after a certain point, Colleagues to Lovers, Coworkers to lovers, Development, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pregnancy, Relationship Development, Slow Burn, Waking Up, some drinking, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 22:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleonorastay/pseuds/eleonorastay
Summary: The evolution of Dolls waking up Wynonna.





	1. Chapter 1

After that awkward family reunion in Champ’s bedroom, Wynonna thought she’d never experience Waverly kicking her way in and accosting her ever again. Unfortunately, not only is that not the case, but this time the younger Earp is disgustingly cheery when she bursts through the door, as opposed to supremely p*ssed off. Frankly, Wynonna prefers the latter.

Mascara-crusted eyes glued shut, she warns, “You know I don’t have a good track record with killing family members. Don’t make me add you to the list.”

“That’s terrible!” If she wasn’t busy French braiding her freshly-washed hair, Waverly would give her older sister a swat. “What’s got your jammies in a jumble?”

“I’m mean in the morning. All the more reason why you should let. Me. SLEEP.” She buries her head in her pillow, managing to obtain a mouthful of hair and spit-soaked cotton in the process. 

Eyes rolling, her sister ignores her (very logical) argument. “It’s already eight thirty. Come on, Dolls called to make sure I woke you up and if you don’t hurry, we’re going to be late.   
Do you reaaaaallly want to start your day off with a grouchy authority figure giving you a punctuality lecture?”

“...no.” Stupid Dolls and his stupid schedule. It doesn’t even make any sense. None of the revenants ever start trouble before noon! ‘Evil never sleeps’ her *ss. Grimacing, Wynonna flops out of bed with all the grace of a drunken, three-legged cow. Even though she successfully (narrowly) avoids smashing her head against the bedside table, she has a headache regardless. Ugh, Dolls is SO going to pay. 

“I’m going to be such a pain in his *ss,” she hisses, stumbling towards the bathroom.

A sparkly blue hair tie twists from Waverly’s fingers onto the end of her finished braid. “Right, like you’re not usually one anyway?” 

Punctuating her sister’s giggles with a door slam is hardly satisfying.


	2. Chapter 2

After many years of cultivating her skills during monotonous high school classes, Wynonna is a pro at pretending to pay attention while really being fast asleep. Part of this is that people rarely question her decision to wear sunglasses inside. Of course, that’s probably because they assume she’s hungover 90% of the time (d*mn her tragic, alcoholic backstory) but hey, whatever. Her skillz come particularly in handy during 8am briefing meetings. Meetings that honestly serve no purpose whatsoever other than to reaffirm that no, they really can’t tell anyone what’s going on in Purgatory, and yes, she does have to follow protocol no matter how stupid it is. And after a long night partying at Shorty’s, she’s so wiped out that not even a weird jabbing sensation in her side can interrupt her morning snooze. 

Unfortunately, she never really got good at pretending she wasn’t sleeping when she gets rudely awakened. Which, this morning, she does. 

The sound of Doll’s hand slamming against the table right in front of her causes her to jerk backwards, almost toppling out of her chair and sending her sunglasses clattering to the floor. 

“Earp! Wake up, this is serious!” he barks, louder than she’s ever heard him. 

Waverly shifts sideways and snatches up the sunglasses, folding them up and hooking them onto the neckline of her peasant blouse. As she settles back in her seat, she shoots Wynonna a guilty wince. 

There’s a pencil twisted between the younger Earp sister’s fingers, and Wynonna almost rolls her eyes. So Waverly was the source of all that jabbing. 

“I’m up! J*sus…” Wrist pressed against her hairline, she tries to ignore the icky feeling in her stomach. If there’s one thing she hates, it’s being scolded like she’s still some reckless, teenage anarchist. 

Dolls’ jaw is clenched, so his words come out strained and tight. “Do you think this is some sort of game, Earp? Because I don’t think wasting everyone’s time is going to help you break that curse. If you’d rather doze off than work, that’s on you. But we’re dealing with people’s lives here. That seems a little more important to me than your beauty sleep.”  
Wavery makes an ‘eep’ sound, nervously fiddling with the sunglasses at her throat. 

His tone should make her feel chastised, sorry even. But she’s cranky, and still sleepy, so instead of mumbling an apology, she says, “It’s not my fault you’re boring as h*ll.”

“Wynonna,” Waverly hisses, clutching her pencil like she’s going to stab her sister with it. 

“No, we’re done. I’m done.” His voice now back to the usual monotone, the Black Badge executive sweeps up the array of color-coded and carefully-arranged documents lying on the table and walks out of the room, leaving the door wide open. 

If she hadn’t been yawning, she would have bitten back a smile. What a drama queen.


	3. Chapter 3

A small bump jolts her awake. Bleary-eyed and achy, she yanks on her seatbelt and cracks her neck. 

“Sorry about that,” Dolls says distractedly, easing off the accelerator. 

“You know, when you said ‘life changing, bonding field trip’, a four-hour-long car ride to the boonies is not what I had in mind.” She’s folded up in the passenger seat of the narc van, one knee up against the window and an open bag of Red Vines taking up residence on her lap. In the driver’s seat, Dolls is sitting up straight and alert, one hand guiding the wheel. In the other rests his phone, the Google maps app giving him directions in a flat, mechanical voice. 

Tossing her a look, Dolls sighs. “For the fifth time, I said ‘off-the-grid search’ for a reported rogue revenant camp. And you could have stayed at the station.”

“Leaving you with no backup and full control of the radio for the entire car ride?” Faking a gasp, she nudges his shoulder with her own. “What kind of heir would I be? Besides, we both know I’m the only one who can put those suckers down.” She pats Peacemaker, fingers sliding over the smooth metal. Having the gun by her side feels comforting. Like it’s a part of her now, as freaky as that sounds. Of course, she’d never say that to Dolls. If she did, he’d probably send her to get her head checked or accuse her of harboring a weapon-crazed poltergeist or something. 

“We’re not going to shoot anybody. Just a preliminary investigation.” 

Lips pursed, she exhales noisily. “Well, we’re not going to find anything if you don’t speed up.”

“I’m going the speed limit,” he replies patiently, adjusting his rearview mirror. She can see a glimmer of a smile by the corner of his mouth, and she almost matches it before catching herself. Annoying Dolls is a lot of fun, but she doesn’t have to let him know just how much she enjoys doing it. 

Desperate for a distraction, she reaches over to grab her half-empty carton of lukewarm coffee from one of the cup holders between them. The other contains an unopened bottle of water for him, and she mumbles, “Sure you don’t wanna hydrate a little, Grandma?”

“I’m good.” A real, closed-lip smile is thrown her way. 

Whoa. Looks like the deputy is in a good mood today. And as fun as it would be to ruin it, she kind of doesn’t want to spend an entire car ride trapped with a Negative Nancy. 

She lifts the coffee cup to her lips. “Wanna play I Spy?”


	4. Chapter 4

The clock on her phone reads 2:14 AM when she gets the phone call.

Naturally, she answers with a whiskey-sour “WHAT?”, positive it’s her sister asking for a ride home from the station. She’d made it very clear that in her opinion, pulling an all-nighter wasn’t just counterproductive, it was stupid. Of course, an Earp wouldn’t be an Earp if they weren’t stubborn as h*ll, Waverly included. 

But the way her boss’ voice sounds on the other end of the line melts away all of her annoyance, replacing it with panic.

He sounds scared. Not ‘lost in the woods’ scared, but ‘this is really bad and I’m trying not to freak you out but even I can’t keep a level tone’ scared. 

The pressure in her throat distracts her from hearing his every word, but the few she definitely registers are ‘Waverly’ and ‘attack at the office’. 

She’s out of bed with the car keys in her hand by 2:17. In another situation, she’d bother to throw on something with a little more coverage than her sleep shorts and tank top, but this is Waverly. She could be buck naked right now and not even care. Shivering from her lack of coat in the pre-sunrise chill, she slams her bare foot on the gas and breaks more than a few traffic laws on the way to the station. When she gets there, an ambulance is already out front, and she inhales sharply.

Wynonna never prays, hasn’t since she was a kid. After doing so failed to bring Mama and Daddy back together, she stopped seeing any point in it. But now, faced with countless images of her baby sister lying bloody, broken, or worse in Nedley’s office, all she can do is beg whoever runs this stupid universe to please, please, please protect the one thing in her life worth fighting for. 

The door to the station opens, revealing a medic and a uniformed, wide-eyed Nicole. The deputy is so pale she practically glows, and Wynonna almost forgets to put the car in park before jumping out and running up to her. 

“Is Wave--” she chokes, looking from the medic to Haught and back again. 

The medic opens her mouth to answer, but Nicole beats her to it.

“She’s okay. Looks like it was some neighborhood kids throwing rocks. One of our windows is broken, and she has a nasty head injury, but they say she isn’t concussed and she’s going to be okay.” 

“She’s okay?”

“She’s okay.” A cold hand squeezes her own, and Wynonna feels the urge to slump against the redheaded woman and cry it out. Only two things stop her: one, the fact that now that she knows Waverly is fine means she needs to see her RIGHT away, and two, because the cop looks fifty percent of the way to collapsing herself. 

Pushing past the medic, she sprints into the station and checks every room before finally reaching Dolls’ office.There are blood drops, broken glass, and rocks the size of her palm littering the floor like rain on a car window after a storm. Leaning against his desk, arms crossed but face drawn is Dolls, and there, lying on the couch, is Waverly. There’s a dark burgundy river of dried blood down the side of her neck, and another medic is sewing up the left side of her head in ugly black thread, but she’s alive and smiling and looking totally okay. 

“Hey, wounded warrior.” Small-voiced and thisclose to breaking down in ugly tears, Wynonna fights back the instinct to tackle-hug her sister and settles for clutching her hand instead. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Waverly soothes, wincing as the medic pulls the thread tight. “Nic--Officer Haught called 911 right away while Dolls put pressure on the wound. Needs stitches, but lucky for me the split’s at my hairline, so I’m still the pretty sister!”

“You bet you are,” Kissing Wave’s fingers, she growls, “I’m going to find the *ss holes who did this, and I’m going to--”

“Hey.” A heavy hand lands on her shoulder, and she knows without looking that it belongs to Dolls. “Only if I get to help you out with that.”

Spinning around, she bites her lip before she says too much. “Thank you. For calling me, and...yeah.” 

In response, he gives her a grim smile. “You’re welcome.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Earp. Time to go.”

She jerks, almost knocking over the mountain of empty shotglasses piled on the counter in front of her. There’s smeared lipstick on her forearm and some guy’s number in her bra, and she can see out of the corner of her eye that Dolls is SO judging her. 

“Don’t give me that look,” she slurs, fumbling in her pants pocket for her wallet. Her hair probably looks like she watched George of the Jungle’s style tutorial, but at least she knows her cat eye is on point right now. Thank God for waterproof liquid liner. “You should know Shorty’s is one of the least embarrassing places I’ve ever passed out drunk.”

“Not from where I’m standing, but hey, whatever you say,” he deadpans. Gingerly, he guides her off of her barstool. As weird as it is to admit it, his warm hand on her back feels really nice...which is how she knows she’s h*lla plastered. 

“Shut up. Now, what are the chances of you carrying me to the car instead of making me walk in these d*mn torture devices?” Time to turn on the puppy dog eyes. 

A laugh explodes from his lips, and she scowls. 

“You suuuuuuck.” Finally yanking her wallet from the back pocket of her leather pants, she plucks a twenty from the inside and tosses it onto the counter. 

“From the number of shots you had, you owe the bartender twice that much,” Dolls remarks, looking pointedly away from her as she fishes the phone number from--Steve? Stanley?--out of her bra. 

“Probably. So what? Like Jeff Sawyer can count higher than two anyway. All it takes to get on his good side is a hair flip and undoing a couple of buttons.” She sticks her tongue out and wiggles her eyebrows.

Unamused, Dolls shakes his head and holds out his hand. “Ready to go?”

“Fine.” Feet already pinching, she pouts and hangs onto his arm, stumbling towards the exit. “I can’t believe Waverly sent you to come get me instead of someone fun.”

A furrow creases his brow, and he hesitates before he says, “You called me, actually.”

“Really?” Her right ankle buckles and she almost faceplants. Survival instinct means flinging herself against his side, arms twisted around his neck. “Sh*t, sorry.”  
She doesn’t know whether she’s apologizing for calling or for using him to break her fall, and it’s clear from the puzzled look on his face that’s he’s not sure either. 

“It’s fine,” he says, guiding her back onto her feet. Behind his ears a red flush has appeared, and she lifts a finger to stroke it before realizing what she’s about to do. 

“Dude, take me home. I’m starting to get weird.”

“Like weird’s not normal for you?” The awkwardness gives way to amusement, and she almost breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Oh--don’t--I will throw up in your car! I will do it!” If she could trust her balance, she would shove him away. But she kind of needs him to make it through the parking lot, she so settles for digging her nails into his arm.


	6. Chapter 6

After an hour of sitting in a car facing the Purgatory back roads with no one but Dolls for company, it’s pretty clear to Wynonna that stakeouts are a lot more fun in theory than in practice. Even being in charge of the high-powered binoculars and eating takeout--Thai food, her second favorite and his third--can’t change the fact that she is super bored. She would complain, but last time she did she got thoroughly shushed. So, she settles for playing Candy Crush on her phone, beating Nicole a bunch of times and losing to Waverly once.

After two hours, she’s ready to start firing bullets into the dark just to make something happen. Of course, Dolls doesn’t find her idea nearly as interesting as she does. 

After hour three has passed? She’s dozing off, neck bent at a slight angle as her head rests against the deputy marshal’s shoulder. The waterproof fabric of his olive-colored jacket is cool against her cheek. It feels comfortable, to be like this. Sharing feelings is like pulling teeth for them, but somehow it’s easy and natural to share space. She’s a pretty physically affectionate person in general, but she’d never have guessed that he would be too. H*ll, three months ago, she’d have laughed in the face of anyone who’d predicted she’d be super touchy with Dolls. Now, she doesn’t even have to think about it. He’s her partner, her team member, even her friend. 

And right now, he’s going to be her stakeout pillow. 

She manages to get in about thirty minutes of snooze time before she’s awakened by a gentle tapping of his knuckles on the top of her head. 

“Hey, I got something. White van coming our way. Too far away to see the license plate, but make and model match the guy we’re looking for.” 

Blinking, she peers out the front windshield, two gold headlights almost blinding her. When he reaches for his gun, she sits up, alert. 

“You ready?” he asks, eyes dipping to below her collarbone. She almost berates him for checking her out at a time like this, but then she realizes he’s just making sure she’s wearing her vest. 

“Ready.” Swiping her hair out of her face, she unholsters Peacemaker and clicks off the safety. “And if it’s not him? Do we get in trouble for pulling weapons on a civilian?”

“I’m always in trouble when you’re around, Earp.” He’s got that punchworthy, makes-her-stomach-flip-like-a-pancake smile lighting up his face, and she smirks before jostling his arm. Even when he’s being a total dork, she still can’t keep herself from touching him.

“Worst joke ever.”

“Better hope it’s not him then, or it might be the last one you’re ever gonna hear.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Wynonna!”

Waking up from her nightmare feels like coming up for air after drowning. Dolls, wearing a Cardinals T-shirt and sweatpants, is hovering over her, eyes shining with worry. 

“Sorry.” A stinging relief sits in her chest. It wasn’t real. The horrible, grey and red images of friends and family slaughtered--all her imagination. “Just another nightmare.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Slumping down onto the couch next to her, he rubs one hand over his face. “This sandman spirit is really coming after us, huh?”

“Because he--she--it knows we’re getting closer to finding it and blowing its brains out.” The image of Waverly with a black bullet hole in the middle of her forehead is still smoldering in her mind. “Not that it probably even has brains, because it’s like a ghost thing, but...we’re gonna kick its *ss anyway.”

“Wanna talk about it? The nightmare?” The look on his face is a knowing one, and for some reason that embarasses her. Which is weird, because usually she’s not afraid for Dolls to see her scared or hurt or upset. But right now, reality still feels blurred and she hates, she hates that this ghost can get inside her head like that. Can twist her thoughts and fears and doubts and create this awful picture out of pieces no one but her should be able to access in the first place. Her psyche is hers, d*mmit. And now Dolls wants her to let him into it, too, and...he doesn’t do feelings. She knows that. He knows that. 

God, she needs a drink. 

“I don’t remember it.” she lies. “Do we have any whiskey left?”

“You don’t remember.” From his frown, she can tell he doesn’t believe her excuse.

“I don’t feel like talking about it.” She searches the living room floor for the blanket she must have kicked off in her sleep.The bottle on the coffee table is empty, and she contemplates checking the fridge before deciding the short walk to the kitchen is too far. As she adjusts her position on the couch, she accidentally elbows his shoulder. The tenseness in the muscles are a sharp contrast to the tired droop they’d been a few hours ago. “Thanks for waking me up.”

“Consider it payback for you waking me last night.” he murmurs. 

“Which you refused to talk to ME about. So no, I don’t want to have a sleepover and share secrets, okay? Go pal around with Doc in the barn if that’s what you want.” Glancing over, she catches the furrow in his brow and feels a pang in her stomach. She knows she’s being mean, but she’s freaked out. Besides, he hadn’t shared any details about his ghost-induced nightmare last night.

“Okay. Well, I’m here. In case you change your mind.” His tone is casual, but she can hear a slight bite in his words. 

“Thanks.” she whispers. 

Dolls goes back to his post near the front door. Watching her boss walk away is almost enough for her to call out an apology, but she bites her tongue.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey, Earp. Wake up. Earp…”

Wynonna can feel Dolls shaking her shoulder. She’s awake now, thanks to him, but she’ll be d*mned if she lets him know that. They’ve been pouring over stacks of Calgary missing persons reports for hours--she’s more than earned a little shut eye. Besides, maybe if she ignores him long enough, he’ll leave her alone. That usually works with the f*ck boys at Shorty’s.

“Earp. Earp. Earp.”

Or not. Trying to remain still is way harder than she thought it would be, but she perseveres. Technically, he can’t prove she’s not just a really hard sleeper if she doesn’t move. 

Again, he shakes her shoulder, and it takes every ounce of self control not to slap him away. Why can’t she take a little cat nap? He was forcing her to slog through a calamity of dead ends with basically zero help! Waverly had peaced out ages ago to go spend time with Chrissy, and Nicole was busy with traffic duty. Of course, she and Dolls weren’t really alone. Doc had been hanging around earlier, glaring, offering a sarcastic comment here and there, and generally being his unhelpful *ssholish self. In fact, part of the reason she had decided to take a siesta was so that she wouldn’t have to deal with his sass.

Where was he, anyway? Hopefully not getting into too much trouble...

“You can stop faking. Come on, I brought you dinner.”

“Egg rolls?” she mumbles out of the corner of her mouth, maintaining her pose. 

Even without the visual, she knows he’s smiling. “Uh huh.”

Forget Doc. “Yuuuussssssss.” Eyes popping open, she springs out of her chair and snatches the beautiful container away from the marshall. 

“You’re welcome.” The way he’s looking at her makes her feel weird--like she’s just said something dorky, and she needs to recover by punching his arm or something. 

“Thanks.” It’s not entirely unpleasant, the feeling. It’s a h*ll of a lot nicer than whatever weirdness they’d been treading after the sandman incident, so she’ll take it.  
He smiles, with teeth. Lately, he’s been doing that a lot. And lately, she’s been liking it. Is that weird? Before her brain decides to analyze the whole thing any deeper, she stuffs a dumpling into her mouth with her bare hand (because opening chopsticks takes forever). 

The smile drops, revealing a familiar ‘why do you do these things’ expression. “Cute.”

“Unfortunately, I must wholeheartedly disagree.” There’s Doc, leaning in the doorway of the office. “I do hope you’re planning on leaving some of that for us gentlemen.” 

“I dare you to try to pry this from my cold, dead hands,” she tries to say through the mouthful of dough and pork. In the end, she comes up with a cacophony of muffled sounds and almost chokes to boot. 

For once, both men share a look of something other than mutual hatred. 

Screw them both. Dumplings are the only friend she needs.


	9. Chapter 9

“Don’t you dare fall asleep.” 

Groaning, she squints up at her boss from the curb. Nicole’s jacket is balled up under her neck, and she can feel the hardness of the pavement seeping through her jeans and putting her legs to sleep. “I’m tired.”

“You’re concussed,” Dolls corrects. She can’t see him--there are no street lamps where they parked--but it’s obvious he’s rolling his eyes. “No, you THINK I’m concussed because a revenant gave me a love tap with a fence post and you’re under the impression that I can’t take care of myself.” 

There’s a crunching sound, boots on gravel, and she senses Nicole kneel next to her. “I’m with him, Wyn. Concussions are no joke. If you sleep now, you might regret it later.”

“Whatever.” Gingerly searching for the tender spot on her forehead with her finger, she mumbles, “Can you tell me if it looks really gross? I’m supposed to take my passport photo on Friday and I kinda don’t wanna look like an MMA fighter.”

Nicole chuckles. “Hold on. I left a flashlight in the car.” 

Once the constable is gone, Dolls fills the spot beside her. It’s weird to have him kneeling over her like this. Like she’s dead or something. 

“Come on, it doesn’t even hurt,” she tries.

“Sure it doesn’t.” 

Okay then. A silence hangs between them, and she feels a frantic need to start rambling. To make a joke, or tease him, just make this moment feel normal. “Where did you go? Earlier?”

A sigh, then shuffling. “A 7-11. Got you this beer--”

“I get to drink on the job now? I should get knocked on my *ss more often.”

“Not for that.” A frozen weight presses against her forehead, and she flinches.

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt?”

“It’s cold,” she whines through gritted teeth. 

“Don’t be a baby, Wynonna,” he mutters. The words are rough, but his tone and touch are gentle. It’s a weird combination, and she wonders if maybe she’s got some brain damage after all.

“Did you catch up to the guy? After he hit me?” Asking is pointless; she knows what the answer will be. But she needs to keep talking, or else...or else something.   
The pressure on her forehead eases up, and she hears him swallow. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him next time.”

Suddenly, her entire body feels wrong. Yes, she’s tired, but she’s also got a shock of nervous energy zipping from vein to vein. The world feels like it’s spinning and falling simultaneously, and she hates it. She wants to go home, to snuggle up with Waverly, Nicole, and a bowl of Cocoa Puffs in front of the TV. Maybe let Doc join in, if he’s not off doing something creepy and dangerous…

“Help me up.” Ignoring the ache in her knees, she starts to sit up slowly. 

“You good?” 

“Stop YELLING, God.” Reaching for him, she clutches his sleeve for leverage as she tries to stand. “Let’s just go--”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Nicole is back, flashlight and a first aid kit in hand. “You lie back down right now, missy.”

“I wanna go hooooooooome,” she grumbles. 

“After we patch you up,” the redhead soothes, guiding her onto her back once again. 

“Fine.” To be difficult, she doesn’t remove her hand from Dolls’ sleeve. What she doesn’t count on is him leaving it there, too, until it’s too late and too awkward for either of them to address it. Nicole, bless her heart, doesn’t say a word. 

When they finally get the okay to head back to the Homestead, she ends up in the back seat with him. To keep her from falling asleep, she’s ordered to sit scrunched sideways with her head propped against the window and her knees in his lap. It’s not the most comfortable position ever, but it beats the pavement. Besides, this she knows how to do. Using Dolls as a car pillow, griping at him every time he shifts his weight, him scolding her for not wearing a seatbelt properly. This is what they do. 

Two days later, at the station, she gets the idea that maybe he does care more than he lets on. When he strolls through the precinct door and presents her with an ugly orange helmet to accompany her morning doughnuts, however, she shakes the thought away. 

She does, however, punch him kinda-sorta-lightly on the arm.


	10. Chapter 10

“Wynonna…” 

Her eyes snap open, and she tightens her grip on Peacemaker. The chain on her necklace is like ice water dripping down the side of her throat--she must be tired if that didn't wake her up. Mama’s multicolored quilt presses heavy on her legs, reaching past her leather boots, but her feet still feel numb from the cold. 

No one’s here but her. Of course they aren't. Good--if she could actually hear him, it would mean he was close by, and that’s dangerous. He’s not stupid, she reminds herself. 

Getting out of Purgatory is the best plan. Especially when he's the only one who can. But even though he refuses to admit it, she knows him. And she knows he won’t go far.   
A sigh pulls from her lips, and she snuggles back into the lawn chair. It's one of those collapsible plastic ones, perfect for summer days watching Waverly turn cartwheels in the grass and the opposite of perfect for chilling (literally) in the backyard in winter. Peacemaker’s shaft glows gold in the firelight, and she checks for the thousandth time that yes, the safety is off. Crackling from the bonfire mixed with the mournful caterwauling of--owls? H*ll if she knows--makes the night seem almost peaceful. 

Huh. Peaceful...now what would that be like?

Turning her head, she checks Waverly’s bedroom window. Dark, finally. The younger Earp had insisted on waiting outside with her, but just like Wynonna had expected, Miss Frozen-at-Fifty-Degrees hadn't been able to last past 10pm. To be honest, after the first hour she'd contemplated hogtying Waverly with that pink polka dot scarf and dragging her inside herself. That beaming smile and chirpy optimism might fool everyone else, but Wynonna recognized the pink lining her sister’s eyes, the way she twisted the fingers of her wool gloves into misshapen claws. The prison break had freaked out everyone, but something about it had definitely affected Waverly in a deeper way. Something that probably had everything to do with one very p*ssed off redhead. Not, of course, with blood pacts, or Eliza getting shot point blank in front of them, or their boss--no, their friend being out in the woods, alone, being hunted by like a hundred government agents with no one to back him up...except her, with a gun in her lap that has a mind of its own and could totally decide at the last minute not to save him. Whether she likes it or not, all she can do is not leave him out here alone, and even that might not be enough. 

Yeah, they could use peaceful right about now.


	11. Chapter 11

F*k being pregnant. Not only is it hella off-brand, but constantly vacillating between feeling like a human furnace and a block of ice makes it impossible to sleep. Granted, it's barely noon, but another delightful side effect of this bundle of joy is mood swings. After witnessing her attack the coffee machine with a spatula because it wouldn't turn on (even though she'd pressed every stupid button and all she needed was stupid hot water for the stupid dandelion tea Waverly insists she drink every stupid morning), Nicole had tersely suggested that she head to the custody room to take a nap on one of the cots there. And yeah, a nap SOUNDS f*cking fabulous, but right now it looks like sleep is the last thing she’s gonna get. Groaning, she hauls herself onto her side and squeezes her eyes shut. 

“No offense, baby Earp, but you kinda suck,” she whispers out loud. Waverly would kill her if she heard--all the books she's been hoarding say fetuses pick up sound from inside the womb, and isn't that just the creepiest thing Wynonna’s ever heard--but right now she doesn't give a d*mn. 

“Sorry.” she whispers, quieter than before. 

Okay, maybe a tiny d*mn. 

Her eyelids pale from black to orange, picking up the glow from her phone lying on the other half of the pillow. One fist scrubs the side of her face as she peers at the cracked screen. If it's another notification from Jeremy commenting heart emojis on her Instagram pictures, she's gonna lose it. 

Dolls: Where are you? 

Oh. Not Jeremy. 

A normal person wouldn't be so freaked out by an innocent question, but she feels her heart (and also her baby’s heart? Maybe? Sh*t that's bizarre) wriggle in her chest.   
Things are...weird between them. Not “we have to defeat demons with a magic gun and you're a dragon and he's a 200 year old dentist with trigger finger” weird, but “we kissed at Bobo’s party and never talked about it and then I got knocked up by my ex and we never talked about it and then we kissed again because you're not my boss anymore and we STILL never talked about it” weird. 

Running her nail along the edge of her phone case, Wynonna shifts her position. The mattress underneath her is scratchy and smells like enzymatic floor cleaner. No wonder she can't sleep; the odor is already giving her a headache. She should tell Dolls she'll be right out…

It’s not like she can't do weird. It's just...she sounds like a godd*mn fifteen year old when she says it, but she doesn't know what they are. They're friends, partners, but something else, something she can't touch. When Eliza had asked her who she was to Dolls, she finally had to admit she didn't have a clue. She's never known what she means to Dolls or heck, what exactly he means to her and she's not the type to slap labels on anything but…

Play it cool, lady. You don't have a “win” in your name for nothing. 

Wynonna: Napping. 

Nailed it. (That's what she said.) 

Dolls: Ok. Text me when you're ready for the briefing. If you're not up to it we can do it tomorrow. 

Flopping on her back, she lets out a strangled sound. God, he's been so...careful with her lately. Delicate. The way she wishes everyone else would be, honestly. Nedley, Doc, even Waverly have been getting on her case so much lately. Judging her. But not him. Oddly enough, it's more annoying than anything. Just more evidence that things between them are weird. She wishes she could attribute it to him no longer being under the Black Badge microscope, but she knows it's because of the baby…

The baby. Kiss or no kiss, she was having a baby with someone else. Doc, or a demon. Even though it hurt, he hadn't been wrong when he'd said that it changed everything. 

Whatever they could have been, it was way too late for it now. 

Wynonna: K. Thanks.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOME SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR "GET OUT"

“So this is what the spoon thing is all about?” 

He’s gently steering her around the crowds of people exiting the theater, one hand on her waist and the other on her arm. If she wasn’t the size of a tractor trailer, she would probably swat him away, scold him for treating her like an elderly person. But...she likes how it feels to have his palm heat up a patch of her skin through her sweater. And if she’s being fair, she’s still not used to the weight distribution pregnancy brings. The past few weeks have been a h*ll of a time trying to avoid slamming into innocent strangers like she’s in a game of baby bump-er cars. 

“What do you mean?”

Raising an eyebrow (partly because yeah, she let Waverly fill them in this morning with that powder that smells like almonds so they look bomb af and she needs him to notice), she hisses, “That spoon thing you did yesterday. When Nedley told you that you were a real well-spoken guy.” 

“Could be.” Dolls catches his bottom lip between his teeth, but she can still tell he’s smiling. It’s pretty sexy, if she’s being honest… “Did you like the movie?”

“When you said ‘let’s go see something’ I didn’t think that we were going to drive, like, thirty minutes to the city for some brainbuster that makes me feel stupid for not getting it.” 

Okay, she might be a little p*ssed off because some a*sshat with a ghostbusters tattoo spilled her extra-large, extra-buttery popcorn halfway through the opening credits. Also because she still wasn’t sure if this was a distraction or a date. Exhaling noisily, she amends, “But yeah, I liked it. Kind of. In a ‘this is super confusing’ way.”

“Good.” Dolls chuckles. Even in her mood, she’s a little mesmerized by how the muscles of his jaw move, which is...a totally weird thing to fixate on. She’s always had a thing for facial hair, sue her. Blame him, for growing out the beard since he left Black Badge. Aaaaand now she’s staring, ew. 

“Sorry we had to stop, like, fifty times so I could pee on the way here,” she blurts out. Yeah, that’s it, Earp. Impress him with your bathroom talk. Was the baby sucking away all her mojo in addition to her nutrients? 

“Only like, forty-eight times,” he grins, teeth and all. 

A gasp explodes from her lips. “Xavier Dolls, are you making a JOKE? Sh*t, Get Out must be like, your favorite movie ever!”

“Nice to see something I can relate to.” 

They’ve finally reached where he’s parallel parked the truck, so it’s time for the routine: wait for him to open the door. One hand on his shoulder, the other gripping the seat belt. Haul oneself hip-first onto the leather seat--fast enough to appear agile, while still maintaining control so no one ends up with a broken nose from headbutting the headrest of the driver’s seat. Gracefully flop around until somewhat comfortable, or at least until both legs are on the passenger side. Hope the seatbelt has enough slack to reach the clip, and when that fails, breathlessly scream out curse words until Dolls comes all the way back around to click it into place. Because he has to be a f*cking gentleman and won’t just lean alllllll the way over her to buckle it. It would be a perfect excuse to feel his body pressed against hers and let her inhale his aftershave--which, ironically, smells a lot like the woods he hates so much--but no.

Not that she thinks about any of that of course. 

“So, what exactly do you relate to about the movie? You have some sexy evil girlfriend with a crazy family back in the day?” 

He keeps his eyes on the road, not even giving her one of those ‘that was inappropriate’ looks. “Other than the whole ‘hey, let’s use your body as currency because you’re less than human’ thing? The whole thing, probably.” 

Sh*t. It’s like she’s back in high school, being forced to participate in a class discussion about a book she never read (and honestly doesn’t even remember the title of). “Um…”

Ten knuckles tense at the steering wheel. “Come on, Wynonna. You have to have noticed that Purgatory isn’t the most friendly place for people like me.”

People like him? 

“Dragons? Or, wait. Do you mean government agent guys?” She should have taken notes. Or Wikipedia-d it on the way here. “Non-Canadians…?” 

“Wynonna.” Now he is looking at her, and for once she wishes he wasn’t. “I mean people who aren’t white.” 

Her eyes fly to his license & registration, scotch taped to his left on the dashboard. 

Oh. 

OH. 

She hadn’t even considered--which, based on what movie they just saw, makes her feel five hundred times dumber--God, she is so not equipped to talk about this. Plus she really needs to pee again (even though she literally JUST went before they left). “Listen, Purgatory is full of judgmental a*sholes with a sh*tton of skeletons in their closets. But I get it. I do. I mean, me of all people--”

“No you don’t.” His tone is gentle but firm, and his hold on the steering wheel relaxes. “Maybe in Purgatory, people treat you like that. But when you were bumming around Greece, or even just in the movie theater today, people had no idea about your past or your mistakes. And they treated you like it. But no matter where I go, I’m still black. In a few places I’m a dragon, in more places I’m a--what was it you said?”

“Government agent guy,” she squeaks. 

“That. And in most places I’m a non-Canadian. But I’m black in every place. Everywhere.” Tapping the break as they approach the intersection, he takes a deep breath. “You don’t know what that’s like. And that’s why we needed to drive thirty minutes out to see a movie that wasn’t even showing in Purgatory because no one would go see it if it was.” 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she just says “Yeah.” 

Once they get home, she has a LOT of Googling to do.


	13. Chapter 13

"Be okay.  
Be okay, please!  
Please!  
Come back to me."

It feels like being born again, the force of it. Not that she remembers literally being born, but you know. On a less poetic level, it also feels like being punched in the gut with a bowling ball. Smoky air rushes into her lungs, so fast her stomach radiates a sharp ache from inside out. Can you throw up from inhaling too quickly?

Eyes open, and all she can see is Dolls. 

His eyes are clear, so clear. Everything was hazy in the past, so that means she’s back right? But that can’t be right, things can’t be normal, because the way Dolls is looking at her--okay, she’s seen something like it before. A few times: at Bobo’s party before they’d kissed, when she’d tracked his phone to the warehouse, when he’d told her he’d missed her. But there’d always been some cloudiness to those displays of emotion, a veil or...boundary, kind of. Right now, he’s looking at her without holding anything back. If she wasn’t lying prostrate in the snow like a December bachelorette party gone haywire, she could let herself stare back at him forever. 

He’s got snowflakes caught in his beard. She attempts to brush them away, but it seems her arms haven’t been revived along with the rest of her. The warmth of his breath washes over her face--he’s panting like he ran all the way over from the station on foot. 

Why is he breathing so hard? Of course she’s gonna be winded, she just returned from a lovely trip to the past. What’s his excuse?

Gloved hands cradle her frozen cheeks. The sensation of the wool against her chilled skin is almost painful, but she barely has time to register the feeling before it’s replaced with one, two, three taps from his chapped lips.

Dolls is kissing her. On the cheek, sure, but kissing her. 

What’s that about?

***

“Are you seriously going to wake me up every hour? Come on, dude. I’ve literally traveled, like, hundreds of years. And died. Let me sleep.” 

She’s grumbly but honestly, Dolls is an incredible back pillow/personal heater combo. In fact, she’s kicking herself for not suggesting they share a bed sooner. 

No, they are not talking about what any of this “means” or all that icky stuff. Frankly, giving the Robert/Clootie/Widows recap has exhausted her to the point that she doesn’t have the energy to approach THAT discussion, even if she wanted to (and she definitely does not want to). Also she’s super p*ssed at Doc for screwing Robert over, and being mad at Doc is such a common occurrence these days that she finds it draining. She’d almost fallen asleep in the shower, for f*cks sake. 

Waverly and Jeremy were off doing historical research at the station about what she’d learned, and she didn’t feel like being alone right now. Not that she was ever really alone, but. Honestly, she hadn’t even given herself time to think it over before saying those three words:

"Stay with me?"

Full disclosure: this wasn’t all her. Dolls had been the one to remove his shirt and climb under the freaking duvet. And yeah, that’s what she had meant when she asked, because she wasn’t such a huge dick that she would force him to chill on the floor. But he was the one who had actually climbed on in like it wasn’t weird. 

Sure, she had been the one to scoot back until they were legit spooning, but...spooning wasn’t forking, so…

“I just need to check,” Dolls murmurs, planting a soft kiss where the edge of her tank top catches the curve of her shoulder. Since she’d come to, he hasn’t stopped touching her: holding her head steady while the ambulance guy checked her vitals, his thumb rubbing small circles against each temple; his forearm bracing her neck as he held the phone with Waverly on the other end to her ear for her; even on the ride home--he’d guided her head to his shoulder, allowing the puffy material of his winter jacket to act as a pillow. No jostling, not even on speed bumps. He’d always driven like a grandma, but he must have gone twenty under the limit to accomplish that. 

She can’t say she minds the touching. Is it weird, yes. But God, she loves weird. She wants weird to last forever and ever.

“Check what?” Speaking of weird, she has an urge to add “baby” to the end of her sentence. Wow, time travel has done a number on her. She really needs some sleep. 

He wraps his arms all the way around and draws her close. “That you’re still here.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Come on. It’s our turn.”

“Nooooooo.” Burying her head even deeper in his jacket-clad shoulder, she groans,

“Tell them I’m too tired. Let whoever’s behind me go first.” The plasticky, hand-santizer-esque smell of the waiting room is making her nauseous, but even that hasn’t kept her from dozing off. All thanks to Baby Earp, who decided to keep their incubator up all night by pressing down on her bladder constantly. She’s pretty sure she’s spent more time on the john than in her own bed. Which is a HUGE shame considering Dolls has been sharing her room for the past week (not in like, a sexy way, unfortunately). Not, like, a dating way, but not a NOT dating way. In their way, whatever that means. 

“Wynonna Earp?” The nurse repeats loudly, clipping the final consonant in an all-too-familiar manner. It’s like being back in juvie all over again. Dolls meets her glare with a pleasant smile, and the wrinkles around the silver-haired harpy’s lips deepen as she frowns. 

“Come on, Earp. Let’s go see how the baby is doing.” Gentle as always, he guides her up off the bench and steers her towards the exam room. 

As they pass by Nurse Crabby Pants, Wynonna makes sure to yawn directly into her pinched-up face. “Can we get pizza after this?”

“Waverly’s already ordered some.” 

“With--”

“Half with pineapple, the other half with black olives.”

“Noice.” Clambering up on the exam table as best as she can with an almost full-term belly, she stifles another yawn. 

“Wynonna Earp?” Another nurse, this one as blonde and chirpy as a Disney Princess--the classic versions--pops her head in the door. Her scrubs are a cotton-candy shade of pink, and Wynonna fights the urge to retch. “The doctor will be right with you.”

“Yeah, no prob. Just gonna finish my nap until she gets here,” Slooooowly lowering herself down backwards like a coffin into a grave--ooh, too dark?--, she winces as her head hits the crunchy wax paper covering the exam table. Status: immediately regretting lying down. “Dolls?”

“Gotcha.” One hand finds the small of her back, the other where her hairline meets the nape of her neck. They get her upright again together, rather gracefully she might add (okay, save a few grunts on her part that sound WAY too similar to the sounds her boyfriend made the night she lost her virginity. But hey, she’s pregnant. She can be as unlovely as she wants, as long as she gets a super-cute baby out of it, yeah?)

Disney nurse giggles. “It’s so nice having Daddy around, isn’t it? Teamwork really is the name of the game during the third trimester.” 

“Oh I’m not--” Dolls starts, but she beats him to it. 

“Da--The dad is busy right now. Dolls is my...friend.” 

Wooooooow. 

She can just hear Waverly gasping in her brain. Your friend??? The friend who’s here with you, at your doctor’s appointment? Just like he’s been here for all your appointments? The late night cravings, the pillow shopping expeditions, the late-night panic attacks? The friend you might have dated if you weren’t pregnant? Who cuddles with you in your bed every night, who kisses your shoulder all the time, who once helped you fasten your bra in the morning and didn’t even cop a feel? The friend who is sexy and sweet and who you trust more than almost anyone?

But that’s what he is. At the very least.

Blue eyes widening, Disney nurse squeals. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed. Let me go get your chart!” She hurries out of the room, leaving them to stew in the awkwardness. 

Sh*t. Say something. Anything. 

“So...bet that’s not the first time you’ve been called Daddy, huh?”


	15. Chapter 15

“I love you.” 

Of all the moments to have the obvious smack her in the face, it had to be in the morning. With her, in a XL SHORTY’s T-shirt and her “ugly shorts” and zit cream on the monster pimple roosting smack dab in the middle of her forehead. At least her hair looks nice--but then again, it always does. 

Cards on the table. Had she always kind of known? Yeah. But not in, like, a fully conscious way. In a hazy way. Like how you know you’re still alive after you’ve smoked a bowl, and colors start melding together like rain smoothing out a chalk drawing. It’s not like how she knows she loves Waverly, or--

Freaking Waverly. She’d known, for sure. And no, she had not been subtle about it...

*** 

“So, you and Dolls?” 

Lifting her head from the manila folder of newspaper clippings that, frankly, she hadn’t been reading anyway, Wynonna turns to face her sister. “Me and Dolls what?”

An incredulous gasp meets her words. “You know! You guys? Being all...you?” 

“You’re gonna have to use your words if you want me to understand, Baby Girl. Or, hey--is charades on the table?” 

“Always.” Smirking, Waverly touches her two index fingers together, draws them out in a curve, and back together again. “Get the picture?”

“Are you saying you ‘heart’ me and Dolls?”

“Are you saying you don’t?”

God, she’s not in the mood for this today. “Waves--”

“I knew it!” The younger Earp springs out of her chair with the energy of someone on their sixth cup of espresso, hug-tackling her sister in the process. Her braid smacks Wynonna in the back of the neck, and weirdly, she smells strongly of vanilla donuts. “You guys have been giving major eye sex vibes all week. And yesterday, when he busted down that door for you at the revenant’s house? Suh-woo-oon! So, what’s the plan? Are you gonna ask him out tonight, or like, wait until you guys have a stakeout thingy so you can get him alone, or--ooh! There’s a Police & Firemen’s ball coming up, last time there was a town party you guys kissed, so--”

Never in her life had she thought she’d shove her sister away for reasons unrelated to morning wake-up calls (not after the Goo incident), but desperate times call for desperate measures. “It’s not--we’re not--no to all of that.” 

Waverly sits back, brow furrowing in confusion. She looks like a kicked puppy and it makes Wynonna feel like sh*t. 

“Listen. I get it, you’ve got a hard on for me and Dolls. And maybe I did too, once, but--it’s just not a good idea, okay?”

The furrow deepens. “Since when does that matter to you?” 

Ouch. “Since Alice.” 

Pursing her lips, Waverly puts her hand on her arm and rubs it comfortingly. “It was hard for all of us.”

“I’m just not...I can’t.” To avoid another puppy situation, she lets her sister keep her hand there, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too, I just...really want you to be happy.” Returning the smile, she added, “And I think you would be. If you gave him a chance.” 

She knows. “Yeah, thanks.” 

*** 

It’s not like she hasn’t thought about it. How it feels when Dolls’ eyes lock with hers, how it would be to have his face on her face, or...other parts on other parts. But she’d always thought she couldn’t. That it wouldn’t be fair. 

Then Officer Haught-to-Trot just HAD to get in her head. Fifty percent of her suspects it was at Waverly’s urging, but then again the almost-sheriff had always been way too intuitive for her own good.

*** 

“One Double-Decker Deluxe Taco with extra queso for the lady with the big gun,” Nicole announces, ceremoniously depositing a paper-wrapped bundle in front of Wynonna. 

“You are a god amongst mortals,” she groans, ferociously ripping into the gift and shoving the meaty, cheesy goodness into her mouth. 

“Believe me, I’ve heard.” Nicole winks at a passing Waverly, whose giggle lingers after she’d shut the door. 

If it wouldn’t mean sacrificing some of the most life-changing taco she’s ever had, Wynonna would gag. Swallowing, she taps Nicole’s arm. “I’ll pay you back. Remind me to hit the ATM on my way home.”

Brown eyes glimmering with mischief, Nicole shrugs. “Oh, you don’t have to. All I need is for you and Dolls to finally jump each other’s bones and everything is fair and square.” 

She’s not proud of this fact, but she chokes a little bit. Sour cream is running down her chin, but she doesn’t even care because the only thought occupying her brain is a big fat WHAT????? “Ex-squeeze me?” 

“Just saying.” Smirking impishly, the redhead tossed her a napkin and walked out, blowing Waverly a kiss before she shut the door. 

*** 

After that, it’s like the universe is conspiring to make her think about it. Jeremy jokingly calls them Mom and Dad one day (some nerd thing he picked up on Tumblrweed or whatever). The latest revenant scum they’re chasing asks if they’ve boned yet before she sticks a bullet between his eyes. Her phone reminds her of her three-year work-aversary with a grainy photo she doesn’t remember taking of the two of them, Dolls’ smile wide and joyful and his hand wrapped around her waist like it belongs there. 

But she’d fought it. She’d fought it like it was another curse, because she thought she could. Until she saw him there, in her godd*mn kitchen, looking sexy as hell in godd*mn Razorback pajamas, flipping godd*mn pancakes like someone normal. She’d been sleepwalking through her feelings, but now seeing him like this, she’s finally wide awake. She’s waking up to the fact that maybe isn’t enough, and it will never be enough. She’s awake, d*mn it. 

And in true Wynonna form, she can’t keep her mouth shut. 

“I love you.”

He doesn’t turn around, but the pancake slips off the spatula, sizzling pathetically in the pan. A cough. 

She keeps going. “I do. Not because you’re brave, not because you always do the right thing even when it sucks, not because you’ve gone through h*ll by being a part of this team and still stick around. Not because you’re always there for me, and for Waverly and Nicole and Jeremy.”

The pancake has stopped sizzling, and it smells like it’s burning. Dolls doesn’t burn anything, and if someone else does, he immediately trashes the charred remnants and cleans the pan. Even relaxed, sweaters-and-smiles Dolls can’t let scorch marks linger. But apparently confused, witness-to-a-love-confession Dolls absolutely can, because he still doesn’t move. 

She wants him to. She wants him to turn around so she can see what he’s thinking. For so long, he kept his face unreadable, but he made the fatal mistake of sticking around. Maybe that’s why he’s still got his back to her--because he knows once she sees his face, she’ll know how he’s taking this. “After what Black Badge put you through, you have every reason to be that closed-off robot you were when we first met. But you stopped faking like you didn’t care and let it happen, and I know that was hard for you, Dolls.” 

Honestly, it feels like she’s f*cking it all up, so she rambles in the hopes that Waverly will wake up soon and interrupt them like usual. “You took care of us, and...f*ck, you let Waverly knit you a Christmas sweater and wore it in public. Me and Nicole, we love Waverly more than anything, and we tried to think of a way to destroy them and make it look like an accident. Nicole spilled coffee all over hers, Nicole--Nicole would have gone crazy by now if she didn’t have you. You’re her guy, and my guy, and--all of our guy. A good guy, you know? The kind of guy we need, because we all have so many reasons not to be good. Especially you, but you keep us here. And I’m not amazing at this, okay? I always thought I’d be scared to tell you, but right now, I’m more scared of not saying anything.” Of staying asleep. 

A click sounds as he flicks the burner off, saving the frying pan from any more damage. Finally, he turns, spatula still in hand. Those beautiful dark eyes are blown wide, and his mouth hangs open. He looks gorgeous and ridiculous all at once, and if she wasn’t in the middle of telling him she was in love with him, she would take out her phone and snap a pic. Post it to Instagram with a witty caption. Use it as his contact photo. Stare at it every night tracing his cheekbones and the swoop of his shoulders. 

Sh*t, she’s poetic. He’s really done her in.

“I love you, Dolls. I wish I could tell you why, but I can’t. It’s not because of the amazing things you do, or how far you’ve come from that place you started from. Not even because you have so much faith in me, even though I’m the biggest Earp f*ck-up by far and the bar is like, six-feet under. And it’s so stupid, because there are a f*ckton of reasons I should love you.” 

Like ice cracking against a windshield, Dolls breaks out of his stunned state. “So you’ve said.” 

“Hey, there are shallow reasons too. You’re super-hot, even though you’re a fire-breathing dragon, and a Black Badge lackey--”

“Former lackey.” He sets the spatula down on the counter behind him without losing eye contact, and for some reason that makes her want to bury her head in his shirt and cry. 

No, no tears. Jokes, jokes are good. “Former lackey, current pain in the a**.” 

There’s a smile from him, a tiny one, and it’s like a firecracker in her chest. She bites back a laugh--the game’s not over, she can’t risk being triumphant just yet. 

“But none of that matters either. It sounds crazy, but if anyone is crazy by now it’s me, so whatever.”

“You’re not crazy,” he says in a way that feels automatic. The line of his jaw softens, and she realizes she forgot to mention she’s not afraid of that word anymore.   
Maybe she’s not afraid of anything. Maybe love is like some kind of morphine hit, or adrenaline shot. Something that makes you feel stupid and brave. Go big or go home, I guess. She steps forward, closer to him. Funny how she’s always been one to run, and now here she is, doing the opposite. 

“I love you, and if none of this happened the way it did--if Willa had been the heir instead, or you hadn’t been shot up with dragon juice, or we’d met in Greece or Kandhar or a bar, or...in line for an ATM, I don’t know--I think we’d always make it to the moment where I love you. I think no matter what happened or didn’t happen, I’d always love you by the end of it.”

He’s looking at her the way he does when she brings him coffee without having to ask what he wants, or when she pours too much maple syrup on her pancakes, or when he catches her beating the tar out of Waverly at Dance Dance Revolution. Those warm, gooey eyes burrowing a home out of her, his smile communicating all the thing she always wished he would say out loud. He has a beautiful smile, and beautiful eyes, and...God, she wishes she hadn’t skipped out on English class so often in high school because maybe then she’d have learned some SAT vocab word that could fully describe him. 

Arms reach up and over his shoulders like puzzle pieces sliding into place, and she would press her forehead to his if it wouldn’t disturb the zit cream. “I wish I could say something cheesy like I can’t live without you, but we both know I could make it. But I don’t want to love you and not be with you. I want this thing, this...us...to happen. But only if you want that too.” 

He smiles with teeth, hands sliding over her waist. “Wynonna.”

“I’m gonna need you to say it,” she admits, even as her head tilts, lips pursed.

“I love you too,” he says it on the exhale, like it’s a natural part of breathing. 

It’s not their first kiss, and it better not be their last. But she’s honestly never felt more present in a kiss, more awake. For someone who eschewed personal connections for the majority of his existence, Dolls is one h*ll of a kisser. He smells like the air after it snows and spearmint toothpaste with a touch of burned pancake. As he drags her closer, she feels the zit cream sticking to his forehead, but she’s too busy twisting her hands in the fabric of his shirt to do something about it. 

“Is something burnin--OH MY GOD.”

Instinctively, Wynonna’s hands clamp over Doll’s cheeks, preventing him from ripping his mouth away from hers. She went above and beyond for this confession, and she’s not going to let her sister’s impeccable timing ruin what is possibly the best makeout session she’s ever had. When she’s sure he’s distracted, she waves the younger Earp off with her right hand. 

“Okay, you guys keep...yeah.” A clattering noise betrays her sister’s exit, although Wynonna can still hear a faint squealing of what is undoubtedly Waverly announcing to her groggy girlfriend in the next room that h*ll has frozen over. 

Good. Let Waverly spread the news. Right now, she has much better things to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Xavier Dolls is the perfect man and Wyndolls is the perfect ship.


End file.
